


Passionvale Inn

by Headfulloffantasies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Haunted House, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Headfulloffantasies/pseuds/Headfulloffantasies
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a classic haunted inn in the middle of nowhere. Some things are not what they seem. Set sometime between seasons 1-3.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Passionvale Inn

“Get this,” Sam folded the newspaper as he read the article to Dean. The Impala sped down the highway, away from the last salt and burn fading in the distance. Dean glanced over from the blacktop stretching towards the horizon. 

Sam read, “Annie Lowe, a hundred-year-old owner of a historic inn in the town of Passionvale died inside the inn on Tuesday. On Wednesday night, the concierge found the old lady’s nurse dead in Annie’s room. The medics say it was a heart attack.”

“Weird,” Dean shrugged. “Not really our thing though, is it?”

“Except,” Sam jabbed a finger at the paper. “The concierge swears he saw Annie Lowe standing over the nurse’s body. He says she vanished through the wall.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. He presses a foot to the gas. “Passionvale, here we come.”

***

The inn had clearly been renovated from an old family manor. The bricked walls on the outside crawled with ivy. Sam and Dean waltzed through the double doors. Sam felt out of place in the wide, red carpeted foyer. He and Dean stank of the road and the last chili cheese dog two towns back. Dean rang the bell on the massive oak reception desk.

“Cozy Powell?” The concierge raised an eyebrow as he swiped Dean’s credit card. His gold name tag read Charles. Dean gave him a challenging grin.

Charles sighed, “Two Queens, or one King?” 

Dean frowned. “Two Queens, obviously.”

“Right,” Charles tried for a laugh. Dean glared at the back of his red uniform as he turned to grab their inn room key. “Welcome to Lowe Inn,” Charles said as he passed Dean the keys.

Dean grumbled under his breath. Sam nudged him aside to lean across the desk. “We read in the newspaper there was a death? Are we safe here?” He adopted his sad, pleading eyes.

Charles fumbled, his mouth opening and closing. Finally, he offered a false smile. “Of course, sir. The police called it an accident. Nothing to worry about.”

Sam lowered his voice. “Were you the one who found her?”

Charles’ eyes widened and then narrowed. “Who exactly did you say you are?”

“We’re just concerned there’s more to the story. Maybe you saw something?” Sam studied Charles’ face. Sweat dotted the concierge’s thin cheeks.

“Enjoy your stay,” Charles said stiffly. He turned as if to help more guests. The foyer was empty. Charles straightened his collar and vanished through the door to his left. The sign plate over the French doors read Dining Room. 

Sam sighed. He joined Dean at the base of a soaring staircase. Dean craned his neck up at the chandelier glowing softly in the afternoon sun. The windows sat in solid lead frames, historically restored, just like the wood panelled walls and the original oil paintings decorating the hall.

“Shall we?” Sam shouldered his bag and led the way up the stairs to their room. They passed only one guest on their way.

A young blonde woman ducked passed them even as Dean called out. “Hey, where’s the fire?”

She didn’t answer.

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “Friendly place.”

A wide hipped maid came out of their room as they approached. “All done,” she said with a sunny smile. “Enjoy,” she bustled away with her cart.

“Hey, miss,” Dean called out. She paused. “Can we ask you about Annie Lowe?”

The maid crossed herself over her white apron. “The lady of the house was always kind,” the maid said. She spoke in a practiced, clipped manner. 

Sam stepped closer. He could see the maid’s nametag. It said Emma. “Did she ever have any… strange habits?”

“Strange?” Emma’s forehead furrowed. “Strange how?”

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. “Anything that struck you as not quite normal?”

Emma’s face brightened. “Oh, you mean the historic society?”

Sam gestured for her to go on.

Emma sighed. “Miss Lowe got into her head that the inn should be donated to the historical society. It’s an old building, but not worth anything. She insisted it should be preserved.”

“Huh,” Dean grunted. “That’s interesting.” He rolled his eyes at Sam behind Emma’s back.

“Thank you for you time,” Sam said. He fished his room key from his pocket. The door creaked as it opened. It looked like a garden had exploded onto the décor. The lamps, the lacy curtains, even the towels had patterned flowers embroidered on them. Sam tossed his bag on the nearest floral bed. 

“No TV, no magic fingers,” Dean complained. 

“It’s a historic sight,” Sam reminded him. Sam snatched a brochure off the bedside table. “Says here the house was built in 1750. The kitchen and stables are all original stonework. The Lowe family owned this house for two hundred fifty years.”

“What happens to it now the old lady kicked the bucket?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Well,” Dean flopped onto his bed. “All we’ve got to do now is find where the hag is buried and wait for dark.”

Sam booted up his computer. It took a simple search to find the obituary with the cemetery listed. 

“Awesome,” Dean pushed himself up off the bed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find some grub.”

“Bring me a salad,” Sam called as Dean closed the door behind him. 

Dean trundled back down the stairs. He passed the empty concierge desk into the dining room. The blonde woman from earlier sat at a table by herself in the corner. Dean glanced around. Nobody else ate or sat in the spacious dining room. Dean made his way over to the young lady.

She wrapped both hands around a steaming mug of coffee. She didn’t look up as Dean approached. She stared out the window into the woods surrounding the inn. Dark trees blocked the view of the highway.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey,” he lifted a hand. She looked up. 

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“I was wondering if I could join you?” Dean smiled. “Not much fun eating alone.”

“Unless you want time to think,” she answered. 

“Right,” Dean backed off.

“No, I’m sorry,” the lady held out a hand. “I didn’t mean that. Please, have a seat.”

Dean pulled out a chair. “I’m Dean,” he introduced himself.

“Katherine,” she answered. 

Dean realized her eyes were rimmed with red. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Um, no, not really,” Katherine set down her coffee. “My sister just died.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean offered.

Katherine gave him a watery smile. “It was sudden, that’s all. Heart attack. At least she didn’t suffer.”

“Heart attack?” Something tugged at Dean’s memory. “Was your sister Annie Lowe’s nurse?”

Katherine blinked in surprise. “Yeah, how did you know that?”

“I’m a sucker for gossip,” Dean dodged the question. He placed his hand on the table beside Katherine’s. “Did your sister ever talk about Annie Lowe to you?”

“Um, sometimes,” Katherine sniffed. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, really,” Dean admitted. “But I’m interested in the history of the house. I was curious if you knew anything that Annie might have told your sister.”

Katherine sighed. “I drove Missy here to work most days. She talked about Annie all the time. I think I could probably tell you more about Annie than her family could.”

“How so?” Dean prompted.

Katherine shrugged. “They didn’t really visit Annie much. Except Louis. Her grandson. He’s around here somewhere. The rest of the family wanted to move Annie into a care home. She told them she’d rather die in the house she was born in. Missy called her a stubborn old dame.” Katherine laughed. The sound choked off as tears welled up in her eyes. “I miss her,” she whispered.

Dean took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

A crash thundered from the kitchen. Katherine jumped. Dean leaped to his feet. Another bang sent him running for the kitchen. He threw open the solid wood door. 

Blood smeared across the stone tiles. A knife lay in a puddle of red. Dean saw a hand curled around the leg of a table. He stepped warily closer.

Katherine pushed in behind Dean. She screamed. Dean turned and pulled her out of the room. “Stay here,” he instructed, leaving her in the dining room. Dean returned to the kitchen. He pulled an iron knife from his belt. He followed the trail of blood behind the table. Charles, the concierge, lay staring unseeing at the ceiling. Blood pooled around the gouge in his throat. 

Dean cursed.

A groan drew his attention. Dean saw a pair of feet over by the standing freezer. He hustled over. A man in a grey sweater and slacks lay facedown on the floor. The man lifted his head as Dean skidded to a halt beside him.

“Did you see her?” Dean asked. He held his knife at the ready.

“Who?” The man groaned. 

“Annie Lowe,” Dean shouted. He spun a circle, checking the corners of the room. “Did you see her?”

“Annie’s dead,” the man sat up. A cut on his forehead bled into his brown hair. “I buried her days ago.”

“Yeah, well her ghost is back,” Dean said. He grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s move.”

The guy yelped as they passed Charles’ body. Dean shoved him along. They pushed into the dining hall.

Katherine gasped. She clasped her hands to her chest. Tears ran down her face. “Louis? Are you okay?”

“Katherine?” Louis asked. “What are you doing here?”

Katherine snatched one of the linen napkins from the tables and pressed it to Louis’s head. Louis flinched. He covered Katherine’s fingers with his own. They shared a long look.

“Hey, this is nice,” Dean grumbled. “But we got a body and a bloodthirsty ghost on our hands. Let’s take this elsewhere.” He grabbed Louis’ thick sweater.

“I’m not leaving,” Louis shoved Dean’s hand from his shoulder. “This is my inn. I’m staying.”

“You’re Annie Lowe’s next of kin?” Dean gave Louis another once over. 

“She was my grandmother,” Louis said. “Who are you?”

“A concerned citizen,” Dean dodged. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice echoed through the empty inn. 

“In here,” Dean yelled back. Sam barged through the dining room door. He held a shotgun. He lowered the barrel of the gun when he caught sight of Dean. 

“I heard a noise and screaming,” Sam explained as he came closer.

“Charles is dead,” Dean said.

Katherine made a choked sound. “What is going on?” She sobbed.

“What’s going on is Annie Lowe’s ghost is here to kill us all,” Dean snapped.

“Dean,” Sam warned.

“Excuse me?” Louis’ gaze flashed between Sam and Dean. He drew himself up. “Who are you people?”

“We’re here to help,” Sam promised.

“Are you ghost hunters?” Katherine asked.

“Sure,” Dean shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it. We’re going to get rid of this ghost for you.”

A wild laugh bubbled out of Louis. “You think my grandmother is killing people from beyond the grave?”

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. “Listen pal,” Dean said. “You don’t have to believe us, but people are dying. So stay out of the way.”

“By all means,” Louis spread his arms wide. He laughed again. “Give it your best shot, Dr. Venkman.”

Dean grabbed Sam and tugged him out into the foyer. The sun set in reds and oranges beyond the wide windows.

“Annie’s getting bolder,” Dean said in a low voice.

“We’ve got to do this salt and burn fast,” Sam said. “People are dropping like flies.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “Let’s go.”

The cemetery was guarded by a high iron fence and a locked gate. Sam and Dean entered without a problem. The smell of fresh wet earth hovered over the mound of earth. The boys took turns standing guard with the flashlight and digging up the grave. At last, Sam’s shovel struck solid wood. It took some time to shift the dirt enough to crack open the casket. Sam gagged. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve.

“That’s rank,” Dean coughed.

“Just pass me the lighter fluid,” Sam choked.

Dean tossed him the bottle. Sam doused the casket evenly. Dean reached down and helped Sam clamber out of the grave. Dean flicked open his lighter.

“Any last words for the broad?” Dean asked.

“Good riddance,” Sam snorted.

Dean chucked the lighter into the grave. Flames shot up into the night, warming their faces. Sam watched the road for passerby’s. He hated salt and burns. The stink clung for days. He’d wash his hands and suddenly smell smoke coming up from under his fingernails. Sometimes Sam thought he carried the stench of death with him. Like an omen.

The last flame flickered out. Dean nudged Sam out of his reverie. They moved like wraiths between the silent gravestones. Sam followed Dean over the wall and into the car. He didn’t speak. Dean didn’t flick on his music. Salt and burns left them both hollow. Sam used to think it was the cold that numbed their limbs while they split their nervous attention between getting caught by either the authorities or whatever might crawl out of the grave. Now, Sam thought the whole weight of hunting never fell heavier than when they desecrated a body. The hunt came to an end without a fight, without a chase, without any confrontation. Just a sad, lonely ceremony that mocked the heartwarming funeral the dead person deserved.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop at the crossroads. One road led to the highway, to the next job and the next monster. The other road wound back to the inn. The car idled in the dark. 

“I have a bad feeling,” Dean broke the silence at last. “Something’s not right.”

Sam thought of the inn. The old lady. The nurse. The concierge.

“I have the same feeling,” Sam agreed. 

The car peeled off the line, shooting back towards the inn. Dean threw the car into park in the empty gravel lot.

Sam frowned. “I thought Louis was going to call the police.” He reached for his cell. “No signal,” he said quietly. A shiver ran down Sam’s spine. Psychic or not, he felt the warning.

Sam and Dean hurried up the steps back into the foyer. The concierge desk sat empty. 

“Katherine!” Dean shouted. “Louis!”

Something slammed into Dean’s back. He stumbled, catching himself on the desk. Sam pulled back a fist, ready for a fight. He paused. Katherine wrapped her arms around Dean from behind. She sobbed into his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” Sam pulled at her fingers clutching Dean’s jacket. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Katherine wailed. “Emma’s dead!”

“Emma?” Sam managed to untangle Katherine from Dean. She latched onto Sam instead, burying her face in his chest. 

“Emma the maid,” Katherine cried. “The ghost got her. I found her in the bathroom. There was so much blood,” she shuddered.

“Katherine,” Dean touched her back. “Where’s Louis?”

“Here.”

Dean turned. Louis descended the long staircase. His face was ashen. Katherine abandoned Sam to clutch at Louis. He rubbed her back absently.

“What is happening in my inn?” Louis asked.

Sam and Dean shared a glance that spoke better than words. “Annie must have something personal in the inn somewhere,” Sam said.

“Well of course she does,” Louis said. “She lived here for one hundred years. She gave birth in this place. This inn is my family legacy.”

“And she doesn’t want to give it up,” Sam finished. 

“We have to get everybody out,” Dean said. He strode to the door. The handle didn’t turn. Dean put his shoulder into it. Locked. He took a running start. The door shuddered in its hinges but did not give. 

“We’re stuck,” Dean reported.

Katherine whimpered. 

Sam reassured her, “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. But we have to stick together.”

“Where’s the best defensible room?” Dean asked Louis.

“The what?” Louis lifted an eyebrow.

“A room with only one entrance, no windows, that we can bar the door from the inside,” Dean explained impatiently.

“The wine cellar,” Louis responded at once.

Louis led the way. He took them into the kitchen, past the cold body of Charles still laying in his own blood. Dean swiped a box of salt off a shelf and the fire axe off the wall. Louis opened a drawer in one of the cabinets and withdrew four candles and a book of matches. He caught Sam’s eye.

“There’s no electricity in the cellar,” Louis explained.

“Great,” Dean grumbled. 

Katherine grabbed Louis’s hand. 

Sam accepted one of the tall white candles from Louis. Louis held his own candle. He took a deep breath. A bruise had started blossoming out from where the blood crusted along his hairline. Louis gestured to a solid oak door. “This is it.”

The door opened into pitch black. Louis went first. “Watch your step,” he called back. Katherine hurried after Louis. Dean and Sam shared a long look. Dean held out his hand not holding his candle in a fist.

“Dude,” Sam complained.

“C’mon,” Dean shook his hand. 

Sam sighed. He offered his fist.

“One, two, three,” Dean counted off. He opened his hand into Scissors. Sam held his Rock steady. 

Dean groaned. He stepped into the dark. With his candle held aloft, Sam followed Dean down a series of steps. Dean passed him the axe. Sam closed the door.   
Darkness swallowed them except for the flickering candles in their hands. Sam jammed the axe handle through the door’s handle. They were barred in. 

Sam hurried down the stairs behind Dean. He asked the question that had nagged at him. “Why is Annie killing off her staff?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean’s shoulders shrugged. “Maybe they know something. Some secret she wants dead with them.”

“Then we have to protect Louis and Katherine,” Sam resolved.

The descended into a cool, dark cellar. Racks of wine bottles lined the walls. Katherine and Louis huddled together in a corner. Dean turned and pulled the box of salt from his pocket. He carefully shook the contents out into a straight line across the bottom of the stairs.

“That should hold her off,” Dean said. He tossed the empty box aside.

“Now what?” Katherine said in a tiny voice. Sam turned towards her. She gripped Louis’ arm fiercely. 

“Now we wait,” Sam said.

“Or not,” Louis answered. The candlelight sliced across his cheekbones. He reached for his belt and pulled out a wicked knife. He dropped his candle. The flame spluttered and died. Katherine stumbled away from him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam groaned. 

“You?” Dean accused. “You killed them? What about the ghost?”

“You were so convinced Annie returned from the dead,” Louis laughed.

“You said she had,” Sam argued.

“Oh no,” Louis shook the knife back and forth. “You’re the ones who came storming in here insisting Annie was killing people from beyond the grave. You didn’t even consider a more rational option.” He cocked his head. “What kind of crazies think that way?”

“And the ghost attacking you?” Dean asked. “You faked that?”

“Charles put up a fight,” Louis touched his injured head. “He got me good. I heard someone coming, and I figured it would be easier to pretend I’d been the second victim.”

“But why?” Sam asked. “Why kill all these people?”

“The inn belongs to me,” Louis snarled. “But Gran Annie got some foul idea in her head about historical societies and donating the land. I wouldn’t get a penny if that happened.”

“She rewrote the will,” Sam guessed. “And you had to make sure no one ever saw the new will.”

“But she told the staff,” Dean picked up Sam’s thread of logic. “So, you had to get rid of them.”

“Louis?” Katherine’s candle shook so hard it spluttered. “Louis, you didn’t.”  
“Of course I did!” Louis spat. He lifted the knife. “But none of you will live to tell anyone about it. Even if you get out of this room, I've sealed the inn doors.”

Sam charged. He lowered his shoulder and plowed into Louis. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the knife coming down for his back. He shoved Louis hard. They hit the ground together. The knife went spinning into the dark. Louis drew back his arm. Sam’s sight exploded into stars. He tasted blood. 

“Get off him!” Katherine screamed. 

Louis rolled out of Sam’s grasp. He dove in the direction the knife had vanished. Dean swooped in and caught Louis by his belt. Louis kicked. He connected solidly with Dean’s knee. Dean yelled and went down. Louis wiggled free. Sam shook the stars from his vision. He scrambled to his feet. Sam grabbed Louis and hauled him up. He slammed Louis against one of the wine racks. The bottles rattled. 

“Stop!” Sam shouted in his face.

Louis’ eyes rolled wildly in his head. He spit and struggled, growling like an animal. Sam slammed him against the wall again. Louis froze, stunned. 

“Enough,” Sam growled. “It’s over.”

Louis laughed. “You’d better kill me. It’s not over until I slaughter all of you like pigs.”

Dean hobbled to his feet. He met Sam’s questioning gaze. Minutely, Dean shook his head. He leaned down and pulled something from the ground. It flashed in the light of the last candle. The knife. 

Sam shoved himself away from Louis. “Get some rope, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean limped for the stairs. 

Katherine stepped up beside Sam. “Tell me something,” she addressed Louis. “Did my sister die of a heart attack?”

Louis’ face crumpled. “Kathy, I’d never hurt you, I swear-,”

“Did Missy die of a heart attack?”

Louis lowered his head. “No.”

Katherine slapped Louis across the face. She stood, her chest heaving and fists clenched. She hit him again with her fist. Sam flinched. 

Katherine screamed. She launched herself at Louis. They toppled to the ground. Katherine kicked and scratched and pummelled Louis into the floor. All he could do was hold his hands over his face and shout. 

Sam snagged Katherine’s arm. She clipped his chin with her other fist. He pulled her up and pinned her to his chest. She kept struggling squirming in his arms. Slowly, the fight turned into sobs. Sam held her as Katherine wailed. 

“I know, I know,” Sam mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

A shaft of light pierced the cellar. A moment later, Dean shuffled back down the stairs. He took in the scene. Sam held Katherine. Louis bled in a puddle in the floor.

“We good?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded.

***

Katherine called the police. Sam and Dean broke a window and removed the chains around the front door Louis had used to seal them in. The boys packed their bags in a rush. Katherine met them in the parking lot beside the Impala. The wind howled through the trees behind the inn.

“Thank you,” Katherine said. Dried tears tracked down her cheeks.

“Don’t thank us,” Dean said. “We got it all wrong.”

Katherine shrugged. She hugged her arms around her stomach. “You still saved me. You caught my sister’s killer. Thank you.” She turned and went back into the inn.

Sam watched with a heavy feeling in his gut. They might have solved this case, but how many people could they have saved if they hadn’t messed up? Charles and Emma might still be alive if not for them.

“Hey,” Dean said. He tossed Sam the keys to the Impala. “You drive.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked. “You never let me drive.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean groused. “Louis screwed my knee up real good.”

“You’ve been bleeding out on the seats and still not let me drive before,” Sam said incredulously.

“Guy kicks like a mule,” Dean complained. He opened the passenger’s door. “You coming or not?”

Sam got in the car. The engine roared to life. The steering wheel vibrated under Sam’s hands. He pointed the car out onto the open road. 

“Where to?”

“Anywhere with pie,” Dean answered.

Sam laughed as the Impala shot down the highway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on tumblr @headfulloffantasies


End file.
